Watchdog
by Electric Smile
Summary: "I wouldn't be a puppet master, so much as a pair of mindful eyes." Vega decides his duty to a doll don't end just because she is no longer a doll. As Cammy adapts to a new life, with no recollection of her old one, her former superior is still determined to keep her safe. But when her past begins to catch up with her, will he be able to keep it from her?
1. Intro

"I've seen you before."

I had degrees of self control. Some would not tell you that. They would say to you that I lack any control, but they would be wrong. To manage two lives at once, a socialite and assassin, one must have some self control. So this neurological muscle was well trained. I let nothing show to indicate the slight panic I felt at this sentence. I pretended not to hear her, hoping she would be too shy to speak to me again.

"You are always on this train, too. The same seat."

Who was I kidding? She was as curious as a child. She _was _a child. It was just that no one knew this but me. "I'm quite selective," I said.

"What is so great about that seat then?" she asked.

"Did you know, it is the only one in the entire London Underground that has not been urinated on by a homeless person?" I responded, hoping she would find the response strange enough to want to stop talking to me.

I was wrong. "How do you know that?"

I sighed inwardly. "Intensive research. Black light inspections. Analyzing the material at microscopic levels. Tests for DNA."

"You didn't really," she said, as if still slightly unsure. I couldn't help but smile, and she noticed. "Well, aren't you funny then." Resolution. The conversation was over. "Well, funny bunny, the next stop is mine." As if I didn't know. She pulled herself to her feet by the pole next to her, clutching a backpack at her chest with her free arm. "I won't let the homeless know about your secret spot," she said as she headed for the doors.

I wasn't stalking her. That would be obvious. I was monitoring her. It was a self-inflicted assignment. I had let this girl out into the world. She had been mine to instruct and watch over before, so why should this change based on whether or not the contents of her brain were programming or conscious thought? I worried for the safety of a woman as naive as she was bound to be. This was already evident in her treatment of me-a complete stranger on a subway train. And I had not been the first. She was still too kind, still too trusting and innocent. I didn't want to admit to it, but the world was bound to spoil all of that, and what good was I if I could not be there to make sure she wasn't harmed as a result?

The issue of whether or not to approach her was one I'd been wrestling with since I first got the chance to watch over her again. It had been shortly after her initial release from Shadaloo. After I left her with the nearest embassy, which happened to belong to the UK. So she woke up, and as per her lingering programming, adopted the accent of the first person she met in order to better assimilate to the unfamiliar surroundings. Some things, she would never be able to rid herself of, and this would be one. It was a program written with the intention of self-preservation, and after all, a person with no sort of accent is most certainly strange to hear. I know, from the way she spoke before. It makes them sound inhuman.

With Bison deceased-but not for long-I may have somewhat 'abandoned' my place in Shadaloo. The place was a wreck, at any rate, and I would not risk delving back into that sort of chaos in an effort for some sort of control or even to score make believe points with the general when he should return. And when he did, there was enough reason to fear that he would come after her. I could handle whatever idiots he would send at first. If he were to come for her himself, however...

It was best not to think of it. So I had no other obligations, anyway. Nothing in Spain-bullfighting was out of season. Then why not stay in London for awhile? Well, maybe I could think of reasons. But none that weighed on me more heavily than assuring myself of her safety, of her proper assimilation in society, of forming bonds with people who were trustworthy enough to not take advantage of her naivety. I would not be a puppet master, as he had been, so much as a pair of mindful eyes. The world was cruel, and an innocence such as hers was rarely ever permitted to flourish. I had witnessed the erasure of enough beautiful things. I would not stand idly by again.


	2. Stage One Friends

The coffee was disgusting. He was really beginning to realise that buying a coffee maker was now priority number one. He was not a gas station person. The only reason he was paying anyone money for what practically amounted to torture was that the alternative was going without caffeine. That meant a headache for the rest of the day, or tracking down a place that made decent coffee in a society dominated by tea-drinkers. Tea was a watered down, weak, gross thing that he wasn't even willing to count as an alternative. They drank it in Spain, but he'd never been fond of it.

There was also the pressing issue of the fact that she apparently frequented the same gas station, and he really could not risk her realising what he was doing. That morning when she came into the place, in a rush, as she usually seemed to be from what he could tell, he was lucky enough to have his back to her. But he wasn't so lucky as she left. He was waiting in line when she noticed him. "Oh, the funny bunny!" she'd said. He looked at her like she was insane. But nothing ever seemed to deter her. "You know, on the train?"

He did what he thought in retrospect he should have done on the train. He shook his head, shrugged, and said, "No English." She hesitated, as if waiting for the joke. But when he shrugged again because she was still looking at him, she seemed to be a little more confused.

"I'm sorry, you look a lot like someone I met the other day." He shook his head again, trying to pretend like he didn't understand a word she was saying, and she began to look embarrassed. Why did that make him feel guilty? He never felt guilty about anything, so why should he start now? Who cared if she thought she embarrassed herself in front of him, a person she was beginning to think she'd never met before? "Oh, well, good bye!" She waved at him and he nodded, still wearing an expression of slight confusion. She finally turned away and left.

He sighed and turned his attention back to the fat old thing behind the counter. He slowly and very loudly enunciated the price for the coffee as if his foreign patron were a moron and Vega stared at him with contempt for it. "Alll-riiiight," he said back in the same manner, not holding back his annoyance.

"You told 'er you didn't speak English, 'ow am I supposed to know?" the man muttered as he made change.

"Even if I didn't, that doesn't make me deaf and stupid. Mind your own business," he said simply. It's advice that just about anyone could stand to follow, he felt.

"Go back to where you came from with that attitude," the man replied as he dropped the change on the counter. Vega didn't really pay him any more attention after that. This hadn't been the first situation in which he'd pretended not to know English to get out of speaking to someone who did. When he had to go to America on orders from Bison, the tactic had gotten him away from drunk women hitting on him at a few places he'd been required to visit. It didn't deter them every time. Some made sure to let him know that was a turn on and he had to pretend that he hadn't understood a statement that made him want to vomit.

So now that's where he was. Drinking that awful coffee. Walking along side a road that was becoming more laden with traffic as the day wore on. It could have been difficult to find ways to make sure that his path intersected with hers throughout the day, but without her realising it. She'd been programmed to be perceptive, to recognise patterns. He didn't want to become involved with her life. He didn't need her to be involved with his. He didn't need to complicate his life further with another web of lies that would eventually become impossible for even him to keep up with. He just needed to make sure she was all right. That was it.

Or was he saying that to reassure himself?

He threw the cup into a nearby garbage can. He didn't like thinking about his own motivations. He felt he didn't need to. He knew what he was doing, and he didn't need to know why. There were not many places she went with any kind of regularity. She went for groceries with alarming frequency, nearly once a day, and probably when she was hungry. Never a good idea, he thought, but it wasn't his place to tell her that. She'd have to figure it out herself, if ever. And she generally did that closer to her home. Second, curiously enough, was a library. He couldn't figure out why. Most of what she seemed to do was job searching. That's what he assumed, at least. He couldn't imagine what else she was doing at various offices, stores, and everything in between without ever buying anything. He wanted to tell her she had to dress a bit nicer if she wanted to get anywhere with that, but again, he wasn't here to interfere.

What did he do while she did all of this? Little things. He bought that stupid coffee maker so he wouldn't have to dread waking up every morning. The next step was figuring out where to get decent coffee. Some days he went into the library after her. He decided maybe it was a good idea to pick up a few books every once in awhile. He had read more when he was younger and it was something he'd fallen out of the habit of doing. He'd gotten busy with...other things. He didn't have regrets. He'd just changed things in his life. Not anybody else, he'd made his own decisions. He chose to spend a year in Japan, completely dedicating himself to ninjitsu. Why that in particular? Maybe it had seemed graceful to him. But when he decided that the man teaching him had nothing more to offer, he left. He claimed his student was homesick. But his student responded that if he didn't have a home, he couldn't be sick for it. He took what he'd learned and used it to his advantage by becoming a matador. It was a way to make money without being bored. He wouldn't get sucked into a life of drudgery and monotony. He'd find ways to occupy his time, or they would find him, in the case of Shadaloo.

So maybe he had not been adequately prepared for an extended period of down time like this. He'd never really anticipated Shadaloo's temporary destruction, nor its coinciding with the off-season of bullfighting. But he had Cammy to look after, so that was something. The rest of that time, however...He didn't have easy nights. But he'd find something. There were a lot of people in London. A lot of people who barely qualified as people.

It was getting dark. It felt early. But he was reticent to get back on the train just yet. He hadn't seen Cammy come by. He didn't like the idea of her wandering around London by herself at night. He had a right to. He knew she was capable, but did she? Would she realise that she was able to defend herself? He was pacing again, this time along the sidewalk, in the open. He forced himself to stop out of fear of looking like an idiot. He glanced around one final time before heading back down the street where he'd last seen her. What had that place been again? Some computer store, he thought. He only ever dealt with computers to the degree required of him. Which meant a little more than the average person, but he did not use them in the same way as the average person.

He walked by the place, keeping his head down but glancing through the window as he passed. He saw those blonde pigtails heading for the door and kept walking. He'd turn around at the corner up ahead. He heard the shop door open behind him. Someone snickered across the street. He glanced up, felt his lip curl back impulsively. Some young men were simply very ugly. He looked away again, not wanting to inflict the sight of them on himself for much longer. The corner was just a few more strides. He crossed the narrow street, looking up as he began to walk in the direction he'd come from. One of the street lights was out. Those two ugly boys were ahead of him, his own fault, he decided, for not paying attention. Ahead of them was Cammy, blissfully unaware of everything around her, as per usual.

But that didn't feel okay. Sometimes he found it terribly adorable, but not now. He struggled with the feeling when something bright in the dark caught his eye ahead. One of the boys flicked a cigarette to the ground. People were disgusting. The other one still held his-

No, that was not the faint glow of the end of a lit cigarette. That was a paltry amount of light glinting off something metal. He walked a little faster, trying to get a better look. But before he knew it, the two kids took off, catching up to Cammy. He didn't think, he ran. They dragged her into the alley, and were they ever going to regret this.

"You let me _go!"_ He heard an impact, turned the corner, and just barely missed colliding with the boy who'd had the cigarette. The other cursed at Cammy, lunging with the knife and before Vega could get to her, she'd taken her assailant by the wrist, twisted his arm around his back, and slammed him into the brick wall face first all in one smooth motion. She let go of him immediately, taking a step back and staring at him as if terrified. Vega decided to let them know he was here.

"Hey!" he shouted. Inarticulate, but now was not the time anyway. She looked up, eyes like a deer in the headlights. The kid was holding his face and he ran. Vega caught sight of blood as he passed by. He watched as the pair bolted down the street, making sure they were gone before turning back to Cammy. "Are you okay?" he asked. He wasn't supposed to do this, but he had to be sure, or he'd never get to sleep.

She nodded, still wide eyed. It was like being stabbed in the heart, that look.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"I-I don't know, I didn't mean to hurt them like that," she said quietly.

He was taken aback. They assaulted her, and she felt like she was in the wrong for retaliating? He went from upset to pissed in a space of a second. "What are you talking about? You should _never _feel guilty over defending yourself."

"I just, I didn't mean to hurt them. I didn't know I could do that," she blurted out. He realised then what the issue really was. Not so much that she had hurt them, but just the fact that she could. He wasn't sure what to say. "I know that sounds mad, but I just didn't know-" She put a hand to her head, seeming to calm down a little. She looked at him, and her eyes looked focused again. "Oh, I don't mean to bother you with all of this."

"You aren't."

She smiled and nodded, bending over to pick up the bag she'd dropped to the ground. Her hands were still shaking."Well," she said as she righted herself again, "thank you for coming to see that everything was all right."

"You are though?"

She bit her lip. She wanted to say something, but didn't have the courage to do it. "I mean, I am fine. Not hurt or anything."

He nodded but still felt anxious. "I have a train to get to," he said, unsure of how to end the conversation.

"I do too!" she all but shouted. She immediately looked embarrassed again. "I mean, maybe we could walk together."

He didn't let it show, but the suggestion just made him more anxious. He wasn't supposed to be doing this. He'd successfully managed to keep an eye on her without interaction for a week. That week had ended when she first spoke to him on the train three days ago. Had he really been naive enough to think he could watch her without her noticing eventually? "If that would make you feel better." He hadn't meant for that to sound so abrasive, but she persisted, apparently too shaken up to be deterred.

"It would." She took a step forward, but still didn't get too close to him. That was good. He could believe that maybe this would teach her to be wary of all men. And she should have been, he thought. He'd never met a good one. "My name is Cammy." She held out a hand.

He took her hand and shook it, and without thinking said, "Andrés." He kicked himself mentally. He couldn't think up something different? He was almost afraid to say who he was to her. Would it remind her of her past? He didn't want to take the risk of her connecting him to Shadaloo again. He couldn't let her call him by the name Vega. But this was really his alternative to himself?

"Where are you from?" she asked as they walked back out to the road.

"Spain."

"Is it nice there?"

"Much nicer than this," he responded a little too quickly. He added to the statement for fear of making her feel insulted,"I mean, not that it is bad here. Maybe I'm just...missing home a little bit."

"Oh," she said. "Well, I don't really know where I'm from, so you've got a head start on me in that department."

He made himself look a little confused at the statement. He knew where she was from. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I have amnesia. So there is a lot I don't know about myself."

He didn't want to rub it in her face that she had no family, so he didn't ask about it. He didn't want to reiterate to her how awful it must be either to not even know who she was. "I guess at least you have a fresh start. Not a whole lot of people will ever have one of those."

She shrugged. "I suppose that is a more positive way to look at things, but it really is quite difficult sometimes. I don't remember if I have any friends, and if I do, I wouldn't know how to find them. You know they don't even have any record of my existence in the entire United Kingdom?"

"Did you fall out of the sky?"

"I don't think so," she said. At least she smiled. "I don't even know if London is where I used to live. I just thought that, since I speak like an English person, I must be one whether there's a record of me or not, and London is the most populous city in the UK. So maybe it is most sensible to be here, and I'll see someone who knows me one day. Then they can tell me who I am." He stared at the ground as they walked. How terribly prophetic that had turned out to be. She mistook his silence for disinterest, and said, "But that's enough about all my complaints. Why are you in London if you miss Spain so much?"

"You aren't complaining," he said, ignoring the question. He didn't have an answer appropriate for her to hear anyway.

"That makes me feel a little better I guess. So I don't feel like I'm talking your ear off."

"You are, but I don't mind it. I don't have much to say." He normally preferred to not listen to someone else talk about themselves. Most people were boring, and didn't even have the decency to be something nice to look at while they spoke.

"Well that's no fair!" she decided. "Now you've sprung a trap on yourself. I have to know everything you have to say."

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

"No, no. Tell me something interesting."

He thought for a moment. "Did you know that cats are always able to land on their feet because they have very flexible spines and no proper collar bones?"

She laughed and said, "I meant about you! Tell me why you're in London, or what it's like in Spain, or...I don't know, anything."

He thought again about what to say as they made it to the terminal. What could he tell her? Not that he was a bullfighter. It was immediately off putting to some people. She could be fairly sensitive. And he did not want to connect himself to being anyone named Vega in her mind. As unlikely as it was that Killer Bee ever knew that her commander had a second job, he didn't want to take the risk. "I just like to travel."

"Me too!" she said. "Or, I feel like I do. I feel like somehow, even if I can't remember them, I've been to quite a few places." He felt a little uneasy at the statement. She had been to many places, and she still had a sense of it. Maybe it was time to switch topics before he made her remember things. If that was possible or not was still up in the air, but he wasn't going to risk it.

"Is this where you're getting on?" he asked. He knew it was.

"Yes, and-oh wait!" she got close to him again now that they were in the light and in a crowded space, and squinted at his face. "I think for sure this time, you're the one from the train the other day?"

"Which one would that be?"

"With the special seat."

He nodded. "Right."

"Oh, good! You know I thought some poor guy at the fuel station today was you. I think I frightened him." She laughed a little as they boarded the train together. It felt a little surreal, and he knew he shouldn't have been doing this.

But he smiled as he took the only free seat near her which was right next to her. "I can't imagine you frightening much of anyone."

"Well now, you never know. People are all afraid of different things," she said. "I don't care too much for being in the dark alone, you know, even though I'm too old for it." How genuine. It quite simply astounded him, how she would so blatantly admit to such a childish fear to a stranger without any sort of embarrassment. She was completely without any kinds of pretension. Something he was, in his life, pretty unused to. He'd never find another person like her in all the world. "What scares you?"

Death. "Nothing."

"Oh, it's personal then, I forget, some people don't like that question. I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't apologise."

"Well, I could have bothered you. I don't want to bother anyone."

"If people are bothered by you wanting to learn something, then I think that makes them the problem. Don't apologise for yourself."

She pressed her lips together, a little unsure about that line of reasoning. "You don't think that's rather..." she seemed to be thinking hard for the word, swinging her legs even though her feet could touch the floor. The train came to its first stop. "Oh! Callous? That's a good word."

"It's just that I don't think you should have to be sorry about who you are. You're curious. There's nothing inherently wrong with that."

"Hm, maybe I can decide not to disagree with you."

"But you don't agree?" he asked, a little amused at the idea of her being in this state of limbo. There were few grey areas for him in all parts of his life, and he had a difficult time understanding the people who saw them in theirs.

"Not quite."

He shrugged, accepting that, and then falling silent. He didn't know what to say to her, and she did a good enough job talking that maybe he didn't even need to start any of the conversations to get them going. But she became quiet too, and they sat there for a few minutes. He didn't find it awkward. It wasn't a tense silence. It was just quiet, and they'd both decided that was okay apparently. She didn't understand it, but she felt all right talking to him. She didn't have trouble speaking with anyone, really, but he in particular felt very easy to speak to. This led her to finally ask, because she had trouble with this sort of thing, "Are you my friend now?"

He didn't look at her as he spoke. But his face was still expressive. Surprise at the question, she thought, and then, "I'm not sure." He was really afraid of that question. What did it mean to be a friend to the woman you'd trained to kill? Could he really be a friend to someone he would lie to every day they spoke? He rarely struggled with any moral ambiguity, so why would he over her?

"What do you suppose a friend is then, so I can decide for myself?" she asked, unsatisfied with the answer but not offended.

He spread his hands. "It's different to everyone. There are those people you'd say were friends but who you barely know. You don't really talk to them about anything significant but you're on amicable terms. Then there are people you might share common interests with but never really get to know in any deeper respect. And I suppose after that, there are those people that you do get to know with a degree of depth."

"Well I suppose right now we are stage one friends then."

He laughed, putting his hand over his mouth. "Acquaintances. That's the word you're looking for."

"Right then. Acquaintances. Well, I have your acquaintanceship now, and you have mine."

He thought about that again. He was going down that road, then. The one he swore to himself he wouldn't end up on when he started this. But he thought he had self-control. Was she going to end up proving him wrong?

* * *

_I switched from first person to third person about three quarters of the way into writing this, so if you notice any weirdness with tenses or pronouns, please excuse me as I must have missed changing them. Also have no fears as to Vega's uncharacteristic kindness here-you'll see the wild side soon enough. :)_


End file.
